


Warm and Clear and Bright

by 7_wonders



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rapunzel Fusion, Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, Cordelia's mean in this, F/M, she kidnaps you, soooooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26539375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7_wonders/pseuds/7_wonders
Summary: Michael Langdon as a messed-up Flynn Ryder and Reader as our sweet, magical Rapunzel.
Relationships: (kidnapper/kidnappee), Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode/Reader, Michael Langdon & Reader, Michael Langdon & You, Michael Langdon/Reader, Michael Langdon/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	Warm and Clear and Bright

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said to 7-wonders:
> 
> okay hear me out, Michael Langdon as Flynn Ryder and Reader as Rapunzel. Like what if she was a witch and when she was born the Supreme could sense her power so kidnapped her and used the healing powers reader had to keep her young but never let her out and Michael goes on a hunt to kill all the witches and looks for the Supreme only to find her. I don't know what I'm saying but like I think that makes sense? Idk, but I love your writing!💞💞

Once upon a time, a child was born. This, in and of itself, is not a momentous event. After all, thousands upon thousands of children are born every day. Even as an infant, everybody around the girl, named (Y/N), in question could sense that she was special. Power, thick and intoxicating, rolled off of the baby in waves that would stretch for miles. Flowers bloomed when her mother took her to sit in the grass, animals would wander up and seem to be having a conversation with her, the weather changed depending on her mood.

Her parents were in awe of what she could do, watching as her powers grew along with her. While they were extremely proud of their daughter, they knew that people with malicious intent would want nothing more than to seize upon that power. Not knowing too much about the politics of magic, they could only do their best to keep her safe. 

The head of all the witches, who was extremely familiar with the politics of magic, was a powerful woman named Cordelia Goode. Cordelia, known as the Supreme amongst her people, had enjoyed her position at the top for only a short few years before (Y/N) was born. When a new Supreme begins to come into her own, the previous Supreme fades. Although Cordelia knew that her time would come, she hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Most Supremes reigned for twenty to thirty years before a new girl would begin to learn more about her powers and unlock her true potential. Confused as to how this could already be happening, she was determined to search for answers.

Unfortunately for the girl and her parents, Cordelia sensed (Y/N)’s power from over a hundred miles away. Drawn to it like a moth to a flame, Cordelia followed the trail to an average little house, on an average little street, in an average little town. To her utter surprise, the source of all that power was a little girl, barely two years old. Sure that she was mistaken, that somebody else in the home is the rising Supreme, she goes to leave the girl’s room, pulling the blankets back up over her small figure before she does. It’s when her hand brushes against the tiny arm that she feels it.

A zap of magic goes through Cordelia like a bolt of electricity. She immediately feels more rejuvenated than she has in months, the wrinkles on her hands smoothing out and becoming youthful. In disbelief, she cautiously runs a hand through the girl’s hair. More magic, in a controlled amount, flows through to Cordelia. A glance in the mirror on the dresser confirms that all of the gray streaks in her hair have disappeared. This was incredible; never had she seen anyone with such power. Not her mother, not herself, and especially not a young child. At the rate that her powers were growing, Cordelia would be lucky to live to see the next year. Knowing that this may be her only chance to prolong her reign, she made a choice that would affect the lives of numerous people. 

Cordelia spirited her away, taking the young girl to a place where she was sure nobody would ever find her. Raising her as her daughter, Cordelia taught (Y/N) that the outside world was to be feared, and that it was safest inside the small house that the pair inhabited. She knew that this was wrong, but she couldn’t help herself. After having a taste of everlasting youth, she couldn’t give it up. 

Cordelia kept (Y/N) a secret to the outside world, making sure that nobody, not her girls or even Misty, knew about (Y/N). To know this secret would very likely mean Cordelia would lose her chance at youth and immortality, as well as her credibility amongst her community. Eventually, Cordelia managed to convince herself that this was in (Y/N)’s best interest. After all, her parents wouldn’t have known how to handle the powers that she possessed at such a young age. Even further, the world was cruel, especially to a girl who did not fit in. Therefore, Cordelia justified, she was safer being isolated.

To control (Y/N)’s magic, Cordelia knew that she needed to discourage the use of magic in the first place. If she had been able to sense the magic from so far away, surely others could as well. Denouncing (Y/N)’s magic as “parlor tricks,” Cordelia would warn her not to try it again for fear of punishment or the young girl “hurting” herself. (Y/N), fearing and respecting her “mother,” obeyed since she knew nothing beyond what Cordelia would tell her. Regardless of how strict she was, Cordelia was loved by the girl that she had taken in. Years passed, and the ruse continued to go off without a hitch. But all things, whether they are good or bad (sometimes they can be both at the same time, depending on the perspective), must come to an end at some point. 

The beginning of the end occurs on a day that seems like any other, minus the supernatural standoff between witches and the Antichrist. Said Antichrist, a blonde Adonis of a man who went by the name of Michael Langdon, had burst into the school that Cordelia ran and pumped all of her precious students full of lead. Unfortunately for him, his main prize, the Supreme and her protege, had managed to disappear amongst the carnage. Michael was a patient man, and he could wait a little bit longer before besting Cordelia once and for all. Right now, he has bigger things to focus on.

Since he stepped foot in Louisiana, Michael could smell magic on the air. This is not unusual for the state that is teeming with all types of magical and supernatural beings, but this magic was different. It was intoxicating in its thickness, smelling as close to heaven as Michael will ever get. The holder of this magic, whether it be person or place, has inadvertently created a homing signal for anybody that is as highly attuned to traces of magic as Michael is. And nobody is as highly attuned as Michael.

He follows it to a small house just outside of New Orleans. “House” is generous--it looks more like a cottage than anything else, especially since it’s nestled in a forest. It seems odd that this would be the source of the magic; most witches and magical creatures tend to congregate in groups, and those that are solitary make their homes where the land holds a particular amount of power. This house is neither of those situations.

Meanwhile, you had sensed that there was somebody--definitely not Mother--prowling around outside the house. You had always had a sixth sense, and it had never failed you before. Mother had prepared you for the bad people who would try to take you, but only minimally. Her words of warning, to “run, hide, and fight” echo through your head as you frantically search for a way to protect yourself. You can feel the prowler making their way around the side of the house, and there is no way that you’ll let some random people take you, or your property, without a fight. Running to the kitchen, you grab a frying pan from the dish rack and swing it experimentally. It’s got some weight to it, enough that it will stun anybody who gets hit with it. 

Hiding against the front door, you wait with bated breath as you hear the locks begin to switch. Right before it swings open, you throw yourself against the wall. The silhouette of a person appears in the doorway, strolling in as if they own the place. You lunge, and whack the person across the back of the head with the frying pan. They cry out, taking a couple of staggering steps before falling to the floor. Screaming is your only response, unsure of what to do next.

It’s a man, that much is certain. You’ve only ever seen actual men in the forms of delivery men that would come to the house a couple of times a week, but you had never been allowed to interact with them. Everything you knew about other people, you had learned from books. This man doesn’t look like he’s up to no good--in fact, he looks like a prince, the kind of White Knight from your well-worn book of childhood fairytales that still sat in your bedroom. Those books had always made you wish for adventure, but looking at the golden-haired man on the floor, you’re not sure you have the heart for said adventure. 

He begins to stir, and your eyes flash to the phone that hangs on the wall. You could call Mother, but she had told you to never, under any circumstances, use the phone unless it was a dire emergency. Although the events that have unfolded are certainly alarming, you don’t think they qualify as “dire emergency” quite yet. 

You know that you can handle this by yourself: you’ve been trying to convince Mother of that for months now, hoping against all hopes that she’ll take you seriously and at least allow you to accompany her to town every so often. You’re tired of seeing the same surroundings day after day. You’ve explored all there is to explore of the house and the yard, and surely you would be protected if you were with your mother? Still, she refused to acquiesce. You had been pondering different ways that you could show how adept you were at protecting yourself now; imagine how impressed she would be if you had taken down an intruder single handedly? Mind made up, you hold the frying pan out in a weapon-like manner as the man stumbles to his hands and knees.

Michael comes to in a matter of seconds, stunned brain trying to make sense of what just happened. Nobody has ever managed to take him down before, and whoever did it is arguably more powerful than he is. But he’s not faced with the sight of a witch, warlock, or other magic wielder. Instead, he’s staring up at a young woman who’s holding a frying pan like it’s a baseball bat. There’s a mixture of terror and curiosity in her eyes, and he almost wonders if he’s come to the wrong house. The power flowing off of her, however, tells Michael that’s wrong. So why did she use a common kitchen tool instead of blasting him into oblivion?

“Who are you?” the strange man asks.

“Who am I? You’re the one who broke into my house! Who are you?” He starts to stand up, and you prepare to hit him again. “Don’t move!”

“My name is Michael, I’m looking for someone.”

“You’re supposed to knock if you’re looking for someone,” you point out.

“Yes, well, you’ll have to pardon my manners.” 

“What a...quaint place you have.” He gazes around the room, with its pictures upon pictures of various places around the world and books piled in every corner. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that they were some sort of method of escapism.

“Don’t change the subject.” You warily stare at the intruder--Michael--as he returns your gaze. “Who are you looking for? Why did you come here to find them?”

“Let me stand up and I’ll tell you.” Nodding, you wordlessly threaten him with the frying pan as he stands up again, hands held up in a disarming manner. “I’m looking for a woman named Cordelia Goode, and I was told that she might live around here.”

“Well...that’s my mother, and she never mentioned that there would be anybody coming around looking for her. She doesn’t allow visitors here.”

“Your mother?” Now, Michael’s confusion only grows. It’s a well-known fact that Cordelia’s infertility led to her becoming involved with Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau. So how does she have a fully-grown daughter in the span of a couple of years? Not to mention that she looks nothing like her “mother.” Michael may have grown up in the span of a single evening, but at least he looked like his family. 

“Yes? I shouldn’t have to explain my lineage to a stranger.” 

That’s when it clicks. No family resemblance, the hidden house, one of the strongest magical signatures Michael’s ever felt, the fact that said magic wielder is, by all appearances, entirely untrained: this _isn’t_ Cordelia’s daughter. She may have been raised to believe so, but it’s obvious that Cordelia is, and has been for some time, prolonging her youthfulness and reign as Supreme by holding her hostage and using her powers to her advantage. Michael fights off a grin; this day is turning out _so much better_ than he could have ever imagined. 

Michael tests his theory out. “Well, I can certainly understand why she would want to keep you hidden from the outside world. After all, with the magic you possess, people must be lining up to try and capitalize on it.”

“Oh, I actually don’t have that much magic. Mother says I can barely do parlor tricks and that I shouldn’t waste my energy attempting to do anything more.”

Bingo.

“Wait, how do you know about magic?”

“I told you that I was looking for Cordelia. Anybody that has any sort of business with her is familiar with the subject.” Michael smiles at you, a Cheshire Cat grin that has goosebumps rising on the back of your neck. “In fact, I know things that you don’t about your mother.”

“Liar.” He steps closer to you, the frying pan hanging limply at your side as your breathing hitches.

“She runs an entire school for girls with powers like yours, yet she keeps you locked up in this house.”

“They’re all catty and dramatic, and I’m better off staying here because of the harassment I’d get for being her daughter,” you retort, parroting what Mother has told you numerous times.

“Harassment? Cordelia doesn’t even tell people she has a daughter.”

That stops you in your tracks. “What?”

“You mean, you didn’t know?” Michael gives you a look of fake pity. “Why would she forbid you to leave this house if people knew about you? What kind of a mother isolates her child for their entire life?”

“Because--it’s because--”

“She’s not your mother, she’s your kidnapper.”

“Stop it, you don’t even know anything about us!” Unbeknownst to you, getting you angry is all part of Michael’s plan. Even now, after one minor surge of anger, wind with no source is whipping through the living room. You’re almost as powerful as he is, and this unchecked power, along with a need for a mentor, serves to benefit Michael perfectly.

“Look at this!” Michael says, gesturing to the curtains blowing wildly in the wind. “This is what you can do with even the smallest recognition of your power. Imagine what you’ll be able to do with the full potential of your powers unlocked.”

You’re trying to fight back, to come up with a logical answer as to why your mother would place all these restrictions on you and refuse to tell people of your existence, but you can’t. There is no reason why somebody who claims to love you would ever need to reduce you to a life of misery and stagnation. 

“Your magic is so much more powerful than Cordelia’s, and I’m assuming it’s been that way since you were born. She hasn’t told you anything about her being the Supreme?”

You shake your head. “She’s mentioned it before, but nothing beyond that.”

“Well, when a new Supreme begins to rise, the old one fades. With how powerful you are, it wouldn’t be surprising to me if Cordelia had started to fade from the moment you were born. She kidnapped you, and is using you to keep herself young and powerful.”

Now, all of the missing pieces in your life have come together to make the full puzzle. Why there are no baby pictures of you, her attitude towards your magic, the refusal to allow you to leave the property. One incident stands out in your mind: you were six years old and, after Mother saying you were too young to use a lighter and you would have to wait for her to light the fireplace, you lit the fire by merely glancing at it from across the room. She was furious with you, more so than she had ever been before or since. That was the only time you had ever worried she would hit you, but instead she had harshly grabbed your wrist, locked you in your room, and sternly told you to never do “any pathetic parlor tricks” ever again.

“You’re angry,” Michael says obviously.

You look at him incredulously. “Yes.”

A smirk appears on his face, and he tilts his head as if he’s seeking out that emotion in your eyes. “ _Good_.” 

Scoffing, you go to turn around, unable to even look at him anymore. Michael grabs your arm to stop you, gasping when he does. He looks ecstatic, eyes almost rolling into the back of his head. For the first time, you feel that power that he keeps talking about. It surges into him, making your arm feel as though it’s been sitting in the warm sun. When he finally lets go of you, the skin tingles where he had gripped it.

“I’m prepared to make you a deal, (Y/N).”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion. “I never told you my name.”

“You're not the only powerful one in this room,” he smirks, and you gasp when his blue eyes disappear into a sea of black for a split second. “Would you like to see beyond the confines of this property?”

It’s almost cruel that he even asks that. Of course you want to leave the land that you’ve spent your entire life (well, apparently only most of your life) on. That’s all you’ve ever wanted, and, though Michael has been in your life for a matter of minutes, he knows that as a fact.

“Come with me. Allow me to show you the world that you’ve been missing out on; let me train you on how to harness and use your magic.”

“And what’s in it for you? This seems like quite the one-sided deal.”

“Normally, I’m a man of wealth and taste, but this time, I only require one thing: _revenge_.”

You’ve never thought of yourself as a vengeful person. While there hasn’t really been anybody that you could be vengeful towards in your life, you had never seen a reason why you would want to react to a situation in that way. Now, however, you get it. Whatever Mother had done to make Michael so hellbent on revenge, you commiserate with him. Maybe this is some sort of delayed teenage rebellion, but getting to explore beyond your little slice of the world is just the icing on the “making Mother mad” cake.

“So?” Michael asks, holding his hand out to you.

“Alright.” You grab his hand, using it to pull him closer to you threateningly. “But, if I’m as powerful as you say I am, then you had better not double-cross me.”

“I would never even dream of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, it’s taken me forever to write anything. I’ve had major writer’s block for the longest time, and it’s been extremely frustrating. However, this prompt is amazing, and I was determined for this to be what got me out of my slump. Feedback is extremely appreciated, and I would very much appreciate if you left a kudos or a comment.


End file.
